


Gearing Up for Something

by lionessvalenti



Category: Baby-Sitters Club - Ann M. Martin
Genre: F/M, High School
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-09
Updated: 2012-04-09
Packaged: 2017-11-03 09:01:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,459
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/379621
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lionessvalenti/pseuds/lionessvalenti
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cary catches Kristy by surprise after offering her a ride after school.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Gearing Up for Something

**Author's Note:**

  * For [bookplayer](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bookplayer/gifts).



I looked at the poster for the winter formal, like maybe I could unlock the secrets of the universe in the Photoshopped picture of falling snow on a dark blue background. Nope, no secrets. Just an excuse to dress up and hang out awkwardly around a punch bowl while your teachers are wearing tuxedos.

It wasn't that I didn't understand the appeal of having fantastic high school memories, but mine happened on a softball field, not on a dance floor.

My best friend, Mary Anne Spier, however, thought this dance was the best thing since sliced bread, but she felt that way about every dance. Of course, she'd been dating Pete Black for over a year. They were into that romantic stuff.

I just... wasn't.

"Thinking about going to the dance, Kristy?" Cokie Mason asked. She was standing right behind me, and reached over my shoulder to point at the bottom of the poster. "Didn't you read the small print? No lesbians allowed."

The poster, of course, said no such thing. I turned around and put my hands on my hips. "If you were thinking about going, you should read the fine print, too. No trolls allowed."

Cokie sneered down at me. "You think you're funny, but you're not. At least I'm normal." She swiveled on her heel and started down the hallway.

"There's nothing normal about you, Cokie!" I called after her. "Go back under your bridge!"

Several people down the hall turned to stare at me, and I felt my face heat up. Sometimes, I don't realize how loud I can be. For being the shortest girl in the junior class, I definitely have the biggest mouth.

Instead of letting the stares bother me, I adjusted the strap of my backpack on my shoulder and walked away. I didn't let Cokie's words get to me, not really. I'd been hearing it for years, ever since the kids in my grade learned about lesbian stereotypes and decided that I fit every single one of them.

No, I don't like wearing skirts or dresses. No, I'm not interested in makeup or movies stars. Yes, I like sports, especially softball. Yes, I like to wear my hair in a ponytail every day with a baseball cap jammed on my head. But it doesn't say anything about me except that I like to wear comfortable clothes and have more to worry about than what's on the inside of teen fashion magazines.

I hadn't moved three steps when Cary Retlin fell in stride next to me. "So, Cokie Mason is a troll?"

"It was really an insult to trolls," I replied. "There's no way Cokie would be able to come up with riddles to keep people from crossing her bridge. She'd be the worst troll ever." I looked up at him (and actually had to crane my neck a little, because Cary's practically a foot taller than me). "Did you hear the whole conversation?"

"Unfortunately," he replied. "I may have lost brain cells at the sound of her voice. How does she have friends?"

I shrugged. "Because there are other people in this school who think that it's funny to harass marginalized groups. And the worst part is, there's no escaping it. There are Cokie Masons everywhere."

Cary raised his eyebrows. "Marginalized groups, huh? Are you gearing up for college activism already?"

I grinned. "I'm always gearing up for something."

When Cary moved to Stoneybrook in the 8th grade, he and I were enemies. Sort of. We were more like rivals who antagonized each other, but with a healthy dose of respect. Most of the time. We weren't exactly friends these days, but Cary starting a conversation out of nowhere wasn't uncommon either. We just ran in different circles.

Cary hitched his thumbs into the straps of his backpack. "So, are you going?" he asked, nodding toward one of the posters. They were up everywhere.

"I kind of want to now, just to rub it in Cokie's face," I replied. I glanced down at my watch and then back up at Cary. "But it's not exactly the kind of dance you can go to alone."

"Am I boring you?" he asked, doing this annoying thing where he raises one eyebrow. I've tried to teach myself how to do it, but it's impossible.

"I'm baby-sitting this afternoon," I said, rolling my eyes. "I don't want to be late, so I'm going to go."

"Do you want a ride?"

I stared at him, totally caught off guard. "Why?"

"Because it's faster than walking? So you won't be late?" Cary said, and he laughed. "Get with the program, Thomas. Do you want a ride or not?"

"Sure," I said, but I put my guard up. If Cary was trying to pull a fast one, I'd be ready for him. "I didn't know you had a car."

"My parents split the cost with me," he replied as we started toward the main entrance of SHS. "Why don't you have a car? I've been to your giant house, remember? Everyone over there has fancy sports cars."

"That's an exaggeration," I said, but it wasn't much of one. There were a lot of teenagers in my neighborhood with impractical cars, but our house was a little different from the rest of the street. The only person in my family who had a fancy sports car was my step-father. "My mom won't let me drive until I'm seventeen. It's the rule."

"Then you'll get your sports car."

"No, then I'll be lucky to get a used sedan. We called my brother Charlie's car the Junk Bucket for a reason."

Cary laughed, and he stared at me as we approached the exit.

"What?" I asked. I pushed open the door and held it open for him.

"Nothing," he replied. We stepped out into the cold winter air, and there was a dusting of a snow on the ground, just enough to make the blacktop slippery. "Can I ask an obvious question?"

"I think you just did."

"Har, har."

I snickered. "Go ahead."

"Well... _are_ you a lesbian?" Cary asked.

"What does it matter if I am?" I asked. I could feel my annoyance growing. "It wouldn't make any of the crap people like Cokie say to me right."

He held up a hand in surrender. "Whoa, I'm not saying that would make it okay. Cokie's a bitch, but is it worth it to go through that crap if you're not gay?"

I sighed. I'd talked about it with Mom and with Mary Anne, and thought about it even more. "I could tell everyone that I'm straight and no one would believe me. I could go to that dance with a guy and everyone would think it was a set-up. So it doesn't matter if I'm straight or gay. People are going to think whatever they want. And, no, it wouldn't be worth it even if I _was_ a lesbian. No one should have to go through that."

"You really are gearing up for the activism," Cary replied. "You sound like an after school special."

I shot him a glare. "It's not funny, Retlin."

"Sorry," he said, and he actually seemed apologetic.

"It's okay," I said, but I eyed him warily.

"This car's mine," Cary said, motioning up ahead to a silver Jeep Cherokee. It looked sort of old, with a little rust around the wheel hulls. "Hop in."

I climbed in, and the car smelled sort of gross, like there was garbage hidden under the seats. I wrinkled my nose, but what else could I expect in the car of a sixteen year old boy?

"You didn't answer my question," he said as he slid the key into the ignition. "I don't care if you're gay, and if you tell me you're straight, I'll believe you."

"Why do you even care?" I asked.

He shrugged and started the car. "You seem to be avoiding the question."

I didn't say anything as he backed out of the parking space. I'd never been excited by boys the way my friends were, but I'd liked guys. There had been Bart Taylor, and we still saw each other sometimes, but we never talk about anything except baseball.

"Never mind," Cary said when I didn't reply. "It's none of my business."

"No," I said, shaking my head. "I'm not avoiding the question. There isn't an answer. I'm sixteen years old -- am I supposed to know everything now? I know I like guys. Do I like girls? Maybe. It's too soon to tell. There aren't any girls here I want to date, but that's not saying there will never be a girl I want to date."

"What? There's never been any practice kissing at infamous Baby-Sitter's Club sleepovers?"

I socked him in the arm. "That's just gross."

"Hey!" he exclaimed, but he was laughing. "I'm driving here!"

"We're at a stop sign," I replied.

He laughed and hit the gas. "I just can't believe I got Kristy Thomas to admit that she doesn't know everything. It might be the first time that's ever happened."

I rolled my eyes. "You're not as clever as you think you are, Cary. Oh, it's the house up there. On the left."

Cary pulled up to the curb outside the Newton's house and put the Jeep into park. "Do you want to go to the dance?"

"I don't _not_ want to go. Mary Anne and Pete are going. But like I said earlier, it's not the sort of thing you go to alone."

He laughed. "Thomas, I'm asking if you want to go to the dance with me."

I stared at him. Cary Retlin, who made it his personal mission to make the lives of the Baby-Sitter's Club miserable in the eighth grade, was asking me to a dance. I didn't see that one coming.

"Is that why you were asking all that stuff?" I asked. "To make sure I wasn't a lesbian?"

He dropped his gaze to the floor. "It seemed stupid to ask if you were."

A grin spread across my face. He could have asked me and I would have thought he meant as friends, or whatever we were, but he went out of his way to make sure I didn't get the wrong impression. "You _like_ me!" I exclaimed.

Cary's face flushed. "Let's not make a big deal out of it," he mumbled.

I threw my head back, laughing. "I can't believe this."

"Will you just say no already?" he asked, running a hand through his hair.

I looked at him, really looking at him for the first time, maybe ever. Cary was the only guy who'd ever really given me a run for my money. He'd been ass, sure, but it had always been fun. I remembered how much I hated it when he was mad at me, even though that was years ago. And now he looked uncomfortable, with his pink cheeks and no eye contact. None of that was Cary Retlin's super confident style.

He was serious. Maybe there really was something to this.

"The dance sounds like fun. I'd like to go," I said. "And Mary Anne will ecstatic that I have a date. We could double."

Cary looked up, his face still red. "Double with Pete and Mary Anne? Have we become domesticated already?"

"If Mary Anne has her way I'll be in a pretty dress and you'll bring me a corsage," I replied, but as the words came out of my mouth, it actually sounded kind of nice. Not that I could say that to Cary. He'd just laugh at me, and after I'd teased him, I didn't want to get right back. I laughed. "She may look meek, but she likes having things just so."

He laughed, too. "Well, I don't care if you come wearing jeans and a tee shirt. I can wear that too. Though, I do have a nice suit, if you want to wear a dress. Or your own nice suit."

"You really do like me, don't you?" I asked in amazement. He honestly didn't care what I wore, as long as I was there. I knew Cary didn't care what people thought of him, and that was something I'd always liked about him. I was the same way.

Cary leaned in closer. "Yeah, Thomas, I really do."

I realized that he about to kiss me, right there in his car, but I didn't close my eyes in anticipation. It would be like him to pull away and leave me looking like a fool. Maybe the whole thing was a joke. Cary had proven that he could pull stunts like this.

But he didn't. He kept leaning forward and his eyes closed as he touched his lips to mine. It was a short, closed-mouth, barely brush of a kiss, but it made my skin break out in goosebumps, and my stomach was suddenly full of knots. When he pulled back and looked into my eyes, I knew he wanted to do it again, and I was okay with that.

I reached blindly around for my backpack before my hand grasped around the nylon handle. "I gotta go," I said. "I don't want to be late."

"Right," Cary said. He sat back in his seat and smiled. "I'll see you at school."

I grinned at him and opened the car door. "Yeah, you will." I hopped out of the Jeep and slammed the door shut. I started up the Newton's driveway, and was about halfway to their house when I turned around. Cary was still sitting there. I waved at him.

He grinned and held his hand up in a short wave. I could hear the transmission make a noise as he shifted the car out of park and drove off.

I watched the car until he was out of sight. I wanted to call Mary Anne on the spot. I could already imagine her squeal of delight that I was going to the dance, followed by confusion that Cary had asked me (or maybe she knew he liked me; Mary Anne could pick up on these things). She'd fret about how it would look that Cary was so much taller than me, because Mary Anne _did_ worry about those things. I'd never get away with wearing jeans to the dance if she had anything to say about it, not that I actually wanted to. I could wear a dress one night out of the year.

I spotted Jamie walking down the street with Mathew and Johnny Hobart. Jamie saw me and waved enthusiastically. I grinned and waved back. I'd been one of Jamie's favorite sitters since he was three.

I'd have to call Mary Anne later.


End file.
